Maggie Getting Married
by cswrites
Summary: "It's all going to be okay," she mutters underneath her breath as she starts forward towards the station. She can make it home and she can be happy for Maggie and smile a lot and hold the train of her sister's dress, when asked, and help organize seating charts that haven't been settled and tease Glenn over his crooked tie. tl;dr: Maggie's getting married and Beth needs a ride.
1. Rings and Rings

_Note: Here we go, then._

* * *

It's not that she's mad.

She's not.

She's _not_ mad.

It's just that's she's out sixty bucks that she could be spending on more important things like food for her forever empty fridge, or her always loomin' phone bill, or _heat_ for her dingy apartment that she shares with four other girls, who can't ever be bothered to remember to chip in their fair share. She's out valuable scavenged savings that's needed for the basic living essentials that she has to have to get by - to survive her day to day life. Instead, Beth is out _sixty dollars_ for a bus ticket. A ticket for a bus. A ticket for a sweaty, crowded, uncomfortable _bus_ that she'll have to cram herself into from New York City to way far back home.

No, it's not that she's mad. Not at all. Even though Maggie sighing irritatingly over the phone when Beth had dared to mention her desire for help for a plane ticket, instead of throwing her own money away for the bus pass, had left her clenching a small fingered fist in irratation of her own. Maggie knows that she's tight on money and Maggie knows that herself and Glenn are not.

_"It's two seventy six, Maggie, I've looked it up and everything,"_ she had pleaded through the line, two weeks back. _"Just lend me the money and I promise I'll pay you back! Or, better yet, put Daddy on the phone. He wouldn't want me on the bus, by myself, anyway."_

_"Bethy, you know you're not paying anyone back for anythin'. You'd have to have a steady job for that kind of thing,"_ her sister's voice had responded back, distractedly, as she hunched and hovered over those thick white booklets Beth had seen photos of all over Maggie's _Facebook_ page. And Beth could'a sworn she heard their Mama's calm tones in the background, grilling Glenn over his sudden family additions and where they were going to put them. _"And you're not gonna rook Daddy into this, he's stressed enough as it is."_

The idea of Hershel Greene getting stressed out over a wedding, of all things in life, is so laughable to anybody who knows him, that Beth had simply rolled her eyes and carried on in her pleas. In fact, for months, Daddy has probably been out with the cows and the chickens, avoiding all of the hub-bub and casually waiting for the week to start so that it could end and the dining room table would finally get cleared away of centerpiece designs and stacks of schedules and lists.

_"You know, Mags, if you got me on a plane, I'd be home in three or so __**hours**__. I'd be right there to help with all the extra little details - actually get to be a Maid of Honor. And there'd be way more time to boss me around, you'd __**love **__that!"_

But, Maggie hadn't budged on the matter and had proceeded to hang up on her a few minutes later with orders to purchase her pass and get over it, already.

Beth huffs out a breath and keeps sorting haphazardly through her and her flatmates shared closet, desperately searching for her grey sweater. She's only got fifteen minutes before the bus drives away from the curb and begin's it's journey. She's not too worried, however. It's only a three minute walk from her two bedroom apartment on Rutgurs to Allen. But, she doesn't want to push her luck at any point during this trip. Despite being out of state, completely on her own for the first time, she's not so used to being by herself - always surrounded by the other girls she lives with - and she doesn't want any unnecessary problems. Beth just wants to get on the bus, get through the fourteen hour drive from New York to Senoia, flop directly into her old bed, back on the farm, and fall asleep for a little while, in a place she's familiar with. It's been a really long time since she wasn't living under the thumbs of a bunch of girls yelling on the phone, or talking to each other, or whispering to their boyfriends that are laying with under the sheets with them in the bed next to Beth's, not trying too hard to be quiet.

She's looking forward to finally being comfortable for a week.

Well, as comfortable as she can be while she gets shuffled around with a million ridiculous bridesmaid duties, where she has to entertain a million family friends and neighbors that she's known her entire life, while she watches her sister glow and her future brother-in-law sweat.

Still, it's an improvement from the wild but somewhat stifling life she's been living in Chinatown. It's home. And she'll get to see her Daddy and show him she's still alive - that no one's stabbed her or mugged her and that she's okay.

There are dresses and pants and shirts and coats of varying sizes hanging crookedly on hangers and piles and piles of shoes, down below, that Beth does her best to narrowly step around without crushing the sides, as she digs her way further into the back of the space. She got to New York in her Daddy's truck, with him and her Mama and brother seated alongside her and a beat up old trailer hooked to the back, filled with her stuff. Back home, if Beth wanted to head into town she road Nelly more than anything. And if she wanted to take a trip into the city with her friends, she took the truck. Her experiences on buses are limited to the city issued ones she sometimes uses to get around and, from what she knows, they're not the same as the one she's about to settle in. So, she'd done a quick search online about travel buses only to find they're usually kept cool to accommodate so many people for such long periods of time. Beth doesn't want to spend the whole drive shivering to herself, but she can't seem to find what she's looking for...

She's just about to call out in frustration and desperation when her bedroom door [the smaller bedroom of the two] flings open and Haley strolls in with a can of _Coke_ in one hand, a magazine shoved underneath her armpit, and her body wrapped snug in _exactly_ what Beth's been spending twelve minutes trying to find.

"You heading out, soon? Fourteen? Thirteen?" Haley hums and snaps the tab open with the tip of her thumb, before quickly lifting the can to her lips to suck away the foam and chuckling under her breath.

Haley's a short spitfire of a girl and the first person Beth met when she initially moved into the apartment building. Her Daddy had just pushed open the front door, when Haley's brown hair came whipping around the corner with a smirk on her lips. _"You must be Beth,"_ she'd grinned cheekily before looking between the New Face standing uncertainly in the front room and the older folks hovering, that were quickly deduced as parents, hovering next to her. Haley had hesitated for something of a moment and pursed her lips, _"There's two beds to pick from, at the moment, and I'd suggest you room in here with me...Megan's a screamer."_

Beth quite clearly remembers her Mama's wide eyes, her Daddy's disapproving stare, and Shawn, standing behind all of them, choking on his laughter.

"Bridezilla awaits, I suppose, and you definitely don't want to keep her storming around the castle-"

"Don't be rude, Hale," Beth twists herself out of the awkward position she's found herself in and strides over to where her friend is settling herself on top of her bed.

"-breathing fire and - _**ouch **__**gently**_ \- sucking away the souls of everything in her fucking path."

"Maggie's just...excited," she shrugs one shoulder and, despite Haley's protests, continues tugging her sweater up from the waist and off of her friend. "She's getting married, after all, and that's a nice thing. She's allowed to go a little crazy."

Haley's hair flies up and falls back around her face, as the fabric finally pulls away from her body, "Whatever you say, girl."

"She and Glenn have a lot to do," Beth mumbles on and drags the sweater over her her ponytail - blonde strands of hair fuzzing around her forehead from all the static. "And she's not like me, you know? She's got this vision in her head and she's so darn _stubborn_." Beth's known that Maggie was going to be specific about her wedding and all the small details, her entire life. As little girls growing up, Beth had dreamt of a wedding on the farm. She'd spoken of mismatched chairs settled out onto the property looking off towards their home, so beautiful and unique, with sunflowers decorating the wrap around porch. She'd spoken of barbecue grilling in the backyard, and her wedding dress worn with cowboy boots, so that she could dance, and the stars mixing in with the twinkle lights lining the sky. She'd spoken of a country wedding so simple and so perfect and so calm and Maggie had stared at her for a long beat before grinning and tilting her head just so, _"You're so sweet, Bethy."_ Jumping into visions of events far grander.

Beth has never expected her to settle for anything less.

"As if you're not. Ten minutes," Haley flops her magazine into her lap and flips open the cover. "You don't even sound excited, which is weird because you love romantic shit. Like, you _love_ romantic shit. What's up with that?"

Beth says nothing as she turns to the items placed on her bed, eyes downcast as she goes over her mental checklist. She's got a brown backpack filled with things for the ride: a book, a packet of gum, a bottle of water, a couple of magazines that Haley had shoved inside, and a change purse with a little bit of money ready to go for rest stops. Sat next to that is her suitcase, still there with the cover flown open. She moves to pull it shut and close the zipper, "I am excited. I'm really happy for Maggie...Happy for them both...This is good."

She listens to a page turn. "Wow, I _really_ believed you just then," Haley's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "Nine minutes, you better run."

xxx

The wheels of her suitcase bump along the raised ridges of the sidewalk, as she makes the turn onto Allen. It's a nice day out; the sun held high and warm in the sky, shining down on the long line of green trees planted in the center walkway of the double wide street. She allows herself a quick moment to take in the sunshine, filling her up and pushing her forward. The weather seems happier than she is and she makes a decision then and there and moves to change her attitude. She weaves her way through the other people who are out and about for the day, strolling past the "Chinatown" mural painted along the outer wall of Tay Shing Corp.; the small white cat in the large red "C" almost waving her goodbye. Wishing her a good trip.

Beth can't really figure out what it is about Maggie's impending big day that's been dragging her down. She loves her sister more than anything in the world and she really does adore Glenn and the constant show that it always is to watch him awkwardly navigate the entirety of the Greene Family Clan. She loves the wonderful way that he treats her sister on top of everything else and she loves that she can physically _see_ the love between them with every passing glance, even when it's going into just the wrong side of mushy.

She supposes others - she supposes _Haley_ has been looking at her over the past few weeks, as the impending event approached nearer and nearer, and had been seeing the faded forms of the slippery long green tentacles of jealousy slithering through the spaces of Beth's mind. She supposes she's been meant to interpret all of her friend's little looks and casual mentions of her interests in romance, despite lost loves, as the complete knowledge that she's figured it out - that she knows why Beth had spent so much time putting off finally packing her things into the suitcase that she's dragging behind her, now.

But, Beth's not been thinking about Zach - she hasn't been thinkin' about Zach for quite some time, not really. Despite what people seemed to gather, she hadn't been quite as head over heels as people had believed. As _Zach_ had initially believed. And whatever she'd had with him a couple of months back really doesn't have any effect to her lack of joy, today. It's just all so much work, finding her way home.

A year and a half back when Beth had heard the news that Glenn had plucked up the courage to slip a ring on Maggie's sister, Beth had happily cheered along with her. She's know Glenn since she was sixteen. Somehow through the thick fog that had invaded her mind so heavily throughout that year, she'd managed to see it in Maggie; that _glow_ that people seemed to assume Beth must've had when she'd stood on Zach's arm. And when her Daddy and her Mama and her finally watched Glenn skitter into the front foyer, with his hair slicked back unnaturally and a plate of store bought cookies spread out onto a plate, she'd seen it in him, too.

Beth clutches the handle of her case as she passes by Pandorabus and the photo of the two panda's sitting casually over the building's sign with the red Chinese symbols that she's not bothered to try to learn how to read. There are sign's in the two front windows reading "NY to Atlanta" but she's not headed here, she's headed further down the street to the third station on the block, past Howard Johnson, Hua Ji Pork Chop Fast Food, and Bo Yi Buddhist Association. Why there need to be three stations on one line of side walk, Beth isn't quite sure. But, she doesn't question it further as she comes upon her destination.

The long vehicle is already sat outside, as she comes up to the corner, the bottom carriage pulled up and open and a man in a vest helping organize the luggage of the passengers, inside. She heads over to the line that's already formed and (after some unsure fumbling over what she's even supposed to do - how this is supposed to work) has her pass scanned. She watches as her things are pushed underneath with the others and starts up the stairs. It's a tight fit and there are people lining the seats. So, Beth settles herself in a row somewhere in the middle, pulls her bottle of water out of her bag, and waits for everyone else to climb aboard.

xxx

It all started blending together about two hours back. The cars. The cars, white and white and black and red and green and orange, and the trees and the sky and the clouds and the yellow lines painting across the burning black of the asphalt. One after the other after the other after the other. Everything in every town they drive through or past looks exactly the same. The same sorts of houses and the same sorts of people and the same sorts of buildings and cars. Fuzzy imitations of the town's before them and muddled, like her mind.

Every single part of her body hurts and it's only been four hours. She's not sure if it's from the act of sitting, alone, bouncing lightly as they hit potholes, or the general exhaustion of her mind. But, by the time she notices the world outside of the window is finally slowing down from the frantic pace of the long highways, the backs of her knees are scratched on the patterned fabric of the seat and her neck hurts from the odd angle of the headrest, where she's been mindlessly watching the cars pass by and counting out the lines in the road. She feels like a child she once was, fascinated as if by the the glow of the stars through the open sunroof.

But, profoundly less at home.

A large group of teenagers, not much younger than herself, considering the fact that she technically still is one, take up the majority of the back of the bus. They've been behind her, three rows back, hollering to the person next to them for more miles than Beth can take. She now knows more than she ever wanted to about Cindy stealing Bryan from Jenna, during the "raging" party after the game, and the following scandal than ensued between the triangle. In the back of her mind, Beth's been considering asking them or the people chaperoning them to tone it down. But, the bus is finally pulling away from the endless road and onto a rocky stretch leading up towards a gas station. So, she bites her tongue and waits impatiently as the woman driving navigates them into the lot.

She needs to take a walk.

She needs something else to drink.

She needs to pee.

The water bottle resting in her lap is already empty - was empty half way through New Jersey - and her leg's been bouncing for around an hour now. So, the second she realizes they're arriving at their first rest stop, Beth reaches below her seat and grabs for her backpack and settles her feet firmly to the ground. The jolt of the vehicle stuttering into a stop and the hiss of the engine shutting down has Beth rising from her seat. There's a few second's hesitation to listen the women in front explain that they'll be heading back onto the road in ten minutes, before Beth's flying down the aisle and down the steps - boots slamming down onto the concrete, below.

The hit of fresh air does her head wonders and she stops to breathe in, for a sum of seconds.

Four hours down.

Ten to go.

She can _do_ this.

"It's all going to be okay," she mutters underneath her breath as she starts forward towards the station. She can make it home on this loud and obnoxious bus and she can be happy for Maggie and smile a lot and hold the train of her sister's dress when asked and help organize seating charts that haven't been settled and tease Glenn over his crooked tie. She can do this. She _can_. "This is good. This will be good."

"You know, talking to yourself is the first sign you're going mad," one of the boys from the bus passes by her, with his friend. They're tall, with matching styled hair and those matching confident smirks that she's known since Shawn's friend's first started becoming teenagers. Beth does nothing but tilt her head and offer a vaguely amused smile, for them more than her, before filing in the station after them. The multiple group's she's been sharing the bus with with are all milling about. A few of the girls she's been listening to from before are hovering over the candy bar aisle and an older couple are poking at the donuts. Beth moves around all of them to the fountains where she grabs a medium foam cup and fills it to the brim with _Sprite_, before heading to the register to purchase her drink.

When she's finally managed to wrangle her change purse out of her backpack and pay for her beverage, Beth pushes her way back out into the open air to sit on the curb and sip at her drink. It's been awhile since she wasn't surrounded by tall buildings and an extra abundance of people and it's nice. It's nice to only have these folk around - no matter how loud - and it's nice to look up and see mostly sky. It's not as clear as back home and the air's not as fresh as it is on the farm. This gas station in..._Wherever, United States_ she is, isn't anywhere near as serene, as back home, and there's trash piling out of an overflowing garbage can. But, all of the signs are in English and she can see normal houses further out in the distance - buildings not built on stack of each other. It's more her style, even if it's not quite...right.

She ain't going to tell her Daddy that, though, when she gets home. She doesn't need to give him any more reason to try and talk her back.

Because, with the way things have been going, he'd probably be able to convince her and it's the type of decision she wants to make without any outside influences.

...Not that she's been thinking on it, or anythin'.

After a few minutes, she notices that some members of the group are starting to head back, so she pushes herself up and off of the ground, "Excuse me?" she calls out to the older couple she'd seen earlier, who are inching their way further away from the door she's stood near. "How much time do we have?"

The man directs a shaky smile towards her and points at his watch with a wrinkled hand, "Four minutes, dear."

It's enough time, so Beth turns back around and heads into the station. She waits too long for a woman to pay for her gas, before walking up to the counter.

"Do you have a bathroom?" she asks the man who's crooked his head to the side to look at a portable television sat on a stool. From what she can see it's playing a football game and by the look on his face, his team isn't doing so well. "Sir?"

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles and blindly grabs at a nail hammered into the wall, where a strip drapes 'round. The key on the end jangles, as he pushes it across the counter, "'Round the side, near the back. Don't lock the door when you're in - it's no good, and I can't hear you from here to make sure to let you out."

"Thank you," Beth's hand closes around the object and she starts back out. The older couple is still walking in the direction of the bus, taking their time, it seems. So, Beth dashes around to the restroom and shoves the key into the door. It's sticky, inside, and dark. The light over the sink flickers menacingly, casting everything inside in a strange shadow. But, there's a toilet and toilet paper and no high school class trip screaming about high school drama, right outside, so she feels more comfortable relieving herself in her than she did on the bus. She's careful to not let her jeans touch the floor on either the way down or the way up and she mentally clocks away the time she has left while she flushes and moves to wash her hands. Beth grabs an extra piece of paper towel, after she's dried her hands, to use to pull open the door, once more. She's not locked it behind her, just as the distracted man behind the counter told her not to, and it opens from the inside as easily as it did from the out. Beth keeps counting as she slides out of the room to go and return the key - she's got one minute to get back into her seat and settle in for the next couple of hours. When she turns the corner of the station, however, she freezes where she stands.

She doesn't see the boys with the matching styled hair and the matching confident smirks.

She doesn't see the girls, so keen to gossip about Bryan and Jenna and Cindy and their romantic tryst.

She doesn't see the older couple hobbling their way towards the bus, any longer.

She doesn't see _the bus_.

Her hand clenches tightly around her foam cup, as she stares at the empty space where the giant uncomfortable hunk of metal once stood. _There's no way it could've left_, she thinks as her eyes widen and her mouth drops open in panic. Beth cranes her neck to look out towards the highway, but her mobile prison isn't there, either. Not even a tiny speck off in the distance to mock her and her stance.

When her body catches up with her mind, she darts back inside and slams the key back onto the counter, "The bus that was here?" she breathes out to the man still hunched near his screen. "What - when did it go? I'm supposed to be on that!"

"Oh, sorry, _sweet'ums_," he doesn't sound sorry. He doesn't sound sorry, at all. "Left a few minutes ago. You should really of gotten on that, huh. Probably should've planned better, kiddo."

Beth doesn't have the time or the energy or the heart to gripe at this gas station clerk for being rude, she's too busy flinging herself back through the doors and whirling her backpack off of her shoulders to dig around inside. The panic burning through her veins has her hands shaking - thinking of _all of her stuff_ that's in the undercarriage of the bus - thinking of the fact that she only has a _few dollars_ in her change purse - and it slows down the process in finding her phone. She does eventually, though, and stabs her way through her contacts until she finds Maggie's name.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Until her sister's voice is humming down the line, in a pre-recorded response, _"Hey there! You've reached Maggie Greene. Sorry, I'm not in. I'm real busy right now planning something important! So, just leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."_

"Maggie," Beth's voice shakes just so and she coughs to try and pull herself together. She stares off in the direction of the high way and wills the bus to realize her seat is empty. She wills it to turn around. "I'm in...Virginia...I think. I'm on my way home, you know? And we stopped for a rest and I went to the bathroom...The bus left me behind and there's no one around, but this nasty man behind the counter...Can you call me back, please? I need...I need help."

She hangs up and scrolls through her contacts, again, and dials home.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

_And rings._

Until her _Mama's_ voice is humming down the line in a pre-recorded response, as well. Beth bites down her curse about how Maggie's big day isn't _quite_ as important as being a young girl stranded alone outside a gas station with nothin' but a rude man and nothing else. Nothing resembling protection or a prayer. She doesn't think Annette Greene would appreciate a "fuck" dripping through the lips of her little girl - no matter how deserved. So, Beth repeats her call of help to her Mama and Daddy, as she thinks through her limited options. She can't call Haley, who's even more broke than she is. Her friend would do anything to help her on a day to day basis, but Beth can't see how she could manage to do anything, here, no matter how hard she tries. She doesn't bother to call Glenn, either, who looks at his phone least enough, as it is, without all of this wedding business on top of it.

She can't do anything, but wait.

So, she flops back down to the curb she was sat at earlier and stares at the screen of her phone, trying to mentally force her family to call her back.

She's there for more than an hour. Cars coming and going. Drink long gone. Eyes unblinking in horror at the bar on her phone draining lower and lower in power.

She's not sure if she's crying, by this point. Her face feels numb, just as her hands do. The rush of panic has simmered into something much worse: the sludge of the dead. She's tired and the sun has dipped just a little lower in the sky and she's sure if she raised a hand and brushed it across her cheek that she'd feel the steady stream of tears. But, she wants to be strong and make it through until someone calls her back. She doesn't want to know if she's allowed herself to let go - she's not a little girl, she shouldn't be afraid. She doesn't feel her body shake with silent cries and she doesn't know if the straps of her bag are actually starting to pinch in through the fabric of her sweater, or if she's just imagining the pain.

But, Beth does feel the sun on her face fade, as a sudden shadow overtakes her, where she sits - concrete digging into her butt. Beth does hear the hesitant scratch of a rough ended voice, standing high above her, as she clutches her phone tighter and tighter and prays for something of a miracle to come and get her out of this mess, "Hey, girl...you alright?"

* * *

_Note: The title is like "Rachel Getting Married". The movie. But, with Maggie. Get it? Eh? I'm not very creative. Anywhoooo please review? I have plans for this oh yes plans._


	2. The Man In the Vest

_Hi again._

* * *

The sun is hung low and tired in the sky - a physical representation of Beth's emotional state, she's sure. There's something about the set of her bones that feel weighted like the sun, when the sound of the man's voice startles her away from where her face is desperately counting down the minutes until she'll need to find a plug to keep her only lifeline to any real help from dying out on her. When she slowly lifts her head up out from where she's sniffling discreetly into the face of her phone and trying to hold herself together, the figure hovering above her is bathed in nothing but shadow - the sheen of soft light outlining the lines of his form. Through the dark of sun shining lowly behind him, all she sees is large solid width, wide shoulders, and looming height where one bare arm is lifted to the other, fingers scratching uncertainly at darkened skin.

In her surprise, it takes Beth a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the sight in front of her before any _real_ features start taking form. When they do, she scans the man in front of her, quickly, and takes note of her situation.

_"You always think the best of everyone, Bethy," _her Daddy had hovered over her as she placed more folded shirts into the cardboard box on her bed, a week before he drove her out to New York. _"And that's a good thing, in general. To not discriminate against others based on what the good Lord gave each of us. But, don't let your kindness take you for a fool, either. Not everyone you meet is looking to return that favor."_

The man's hair is long - dark strands falling down into his face, where his eyes are looking sharply over her, settled and sure. The darkness of his skin, she sees, is actually just a fairly heavy tan. The sort she's familiar with from a lifetime lived on a farm surrounded by a lifetime of farmhands of all sorts; of a man who spends the majority of his being working outdoors whether he wants to be or not. The shape of his arms is much like those men, she knows, as well. Not the wily ones with slight arms just beginning the work, like Jimmy. But, the ones who spend the entire day out in the fields, out with the tools, who get given house rules to stay away from the Greene Girls.

Strong and sure.

Arms that could _hurt_ her, if he's one of the men of which her Daddy warned her about that apparently roam the streets just looking to take advantage of her good nature. His mouth is set in a thin sort-of line, though, while his eyes are moving carefully around the area, surveying the gas station's parking lot with a somewhat intense focus, and he's leaned forward just so - close enough to get a read on her and far enough to not cause any more alarm than she's already in. He looks like a man Maggie would steer her away from, with her heavy arm secured protectively around Beth's shoulders and a unsure scowl on her face.

But, he looks...uncomfortable. He looks uncomfortable and unsure and, if she's correctly reading the small flash in his eyes, he looks a little _angry_.

"I'm sorry?" Beth asks and cringes as her throat quivers and her question stumbles out.

"You alright?" he repeats in the same rough voice, before leaning a little further back to give her room to breathe. "Someone hurt you?"

Her head shakes her answer before she speaks, "No...no one's hurt me." Beth looks beyond him, for a moment, to see the lot completely empty, apart from the pair of them - her craning her neck to look up and him hunching just so to look down - and three vehicles. There's one car parked off to the side of the building, that's been there since Beth first shuffled off of the bus, which she suspects belongs to the horrid man, inside. And, sat over by a pump, alone with no owner inside, is a tan and weathered pick up truck. It's dusty and obviously truly used - dried mud caking along the bottom and small spots of faded paint lining the door. It's a _real_ truck, without all of the extra bells and whistles. The kind a man like Hershel Greene owns and not the kind that swivel past during long winded commercials with shiny letters weaving in and out of the scenic backdrop it's driving along, talking about the high definition televisions built into the backs of the seats. And settled down inside the bed is the third vehicle, a dark motorcycle secured carefully along the front and the rear with two thick black straps.

"You sure?" his accent is familiar. He sounds like the guys at the county fairs, back home, who sit around on their own motorcycles and do nothing but drink beer and talk to the crew that they came with and the leggy girls on their arms.

"I'm sure...I mean," Beth shuffles where she sits. Now that her mind isn't drifted away on her dwindling charge, the feel of the concrete is really starting to take notice. "The _jerk_ inside made some stupid comments - called me "sweet-ums" which was real irritating, but...I'm fine...on _that_ front."

She watches him look up through the glass of the gas station doors, back to her, where she's pushing on the flat of her palms to help herself off of the ground (she swears her knees crick, as they pull straight), and over the plains of her face, where the wind pinches at the salty lines where her tears have been falling.

"On that front, huh?" she listens to him mumble his words underneath his breath. "Listen, girl," his tone is still quiet, like he's sure she'll run even though she knows she has nowhere to run to, and his fingers twitch at his side.

Yes, Beth knows that one look at this man would have her sister mumbling, herself, about no good rednecks who aren't to be trusted or touched with a ten foot pole. But, Beth ain't so sure. He _has_ stopped to check on her, after all, as she sat folded in on herself and crying on the curb in the parking lot of an empty gas station, while the sun slowly went to bed. Even if it looks like he'd rather be _anywhere_ else in the world than standing anywhere near the blonde sop of a girl, she is at the moment, and even if his hands _are_ clenching something fierce, he did lean over and ask if she's okay.

And that's a hell of a lot more than the skeezeball inside by the cash register can say when he goes to sleep tonight.

"-I don't wanna be leaving you here by yourself if someone...did something to you...Maybe...you should call your parents to come pick you up..."

"I swear, no one's done anything. And I've called my Daddy...he didn't answer. Neither did Maggie."

They stand there staring at each other for a moment and, in the silence, Beth sees that he's not quite the giant that he looks like from below. He's still large in the sense that she's not, though. She's slim in all areas - the very definition of petite and short. And he's not. But, he's a lot less alarming from her full height and, although his face is measurably blank, she feels like he's weighing something over in his mind. Perhaps why this lonely girl can't seem to stop sniffling. So, she lets him. She stays silent. She watches him gaze out towards the streets leading out of the lot, as if someone's about to come for her. She watches him look back to the backpack still strapped to her shoulders, and the trail of tears on her face, and the probable red of her nose, and the empty plastic cup, that she'd ripped the top off of, long earlier, to slowly eat away at the ice.

When she thinks he's about to speak, again, however, he doesn't. He nods. Once. Slightly. And moves around where she stands, careful not to touch any part of her, to push inside the building.

It's all very anti-climactic and Beth doesn't really know what she'd expected from this nameless stranger. Was he supposed to summon her Mama from thin air, to come and give her a hug? Was he supposed to magically make her Daddy's blue truck, beat and used and loved, like the tan one stood a few feet away from her, pull into the drive and beckon her to jump in? Was he supposed to telepathically communicate to Maggie to call her back, already?

No.

No, he wasn't.

He's done his civic duty by making sure she'd not been shoved out of a moving car or beaten in the back alley, by some deadbeat boyfriend, which is more so than many other's would'a done. And he moved on.

She turns slightly to watch him, inside, where he's got one hand settled on the counter and the other pointing to the wall of cigarettes. There's something tense in the way he stands and there's something heavy on his shoulders. He sorta looks tired, like she's sure she that she looks tired. She thinks on why, without any clue as to what that might be - something nagging in her mind.

Without thinking it through, Beth kicks one booted foot back against the curb, before starting forward towards the one occupied gas pump. She walks around the front of the man's truck and down the side where the motorcycle stands proud. It's just as dusty as the truck is and Beth takes a moment to wonder if the man wishes he had a tarp to cover it over. She keeps walking around until she reaches the back of the bed and drops her gaze.

The nagging in her mind pings in hope (or maybe it's simply the complete and utter desperation to not suddenly move to Wherever, Virginia for the rest of her life) and she pulls her focus surely back to the man inside, who's tugging a wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. The familiar and comforting orange of the peach on his plates has her mind running wild with the sudden possibilities. She knows her Daddy would scold her 'til the cows came home, if he knew the thought that's flying through her head. She can already picture the look on her Mama's face if she saw the outcome. If she saw her little girl dropping herself out of this tan-

"The hell you think you're doing!" he calls out, as he strides across the parking lot, towards her, far less the tone of the unsure and thinly veiled concerned man from before. Instead, he looks confused at her shuffling 'round his truck (as he should be, really) and, despite the wetness of her eyes, she looks _hopeful_ and she's sure that's not a sight that he really wants to see.

"My name is Beth," she makes her proper introductions with a small smile on her face and a tiny step forward to extend her hand even though he's too far away to do anything with it. So, it's not a surprise when he promptly ignores more contact. She still feels sniffly and her nose still feels stuffed and there's a distinct sense of overall dread. But, this man has a Georgia license plate and this man has a Georgia accent, if from out of the Sticks. And both of those combined together is more of a plan of action than sobbing on the curb of an Exxon, has been.

"That's great. I don't give a shit."

It goes against everything her parents taught her when she moved out on her own, about not shoving herself in a place of danger, unnecessarily. It goes against everything Shawn had warned her of when he'd dragged her into a one armed hug and groaned seriously against the side of her head, before he strode out of her new apartment. It goes against everything Maggie had showed her not to do, growing up, with a small chuckle, as she made mistakes, herself - pre-preparing her little sister for the mean of the world. "I mean...you give a little shit, right?"

"No. The hell you think you're doing?"

Beth keeps envisioning the look on her sister's face, though, when she finally manages to get her on the phone and tells her what's happened - that, if she doesn't find a way to make it out of this, soon, she's going to be late. It's not a pleasant face. Not pleasant, at all. It's a horrible mixture of annoyance and _hurt_ and Beth absolutely does not want to be responsible for putting that feeling into Maggie's features.

So, really, in the grand scheme of things, how crazy is it?

This thought she's having?

"So, you're from Georgia, yeah?" she nods her head down towards his plates and reaches her hands up to grip tightly at the straps of her backpack and pull them away, again, from where it's still digging through her sweater. "Are you...heading to or from?"

Beth can tell right away how smart this man is and she watches the understanding immediately shift over his face, before he settles it back into a simple stare. "No," he grumbles an answer to her not yet asked question and tugs his keys out of his front pocket.

"Wait! Wait, _please_," she reaches out to grab at the bed door. "Please, just hear me out for one second."

"Look, it ain't my business if you're runnin' away," his fingers swirl as he moves to pick out the key that he needs. "Smart thing to do's just to head on back, 'course. Let your Daddy tuck you in and read you a bed time story or whatever shit's normal at your house. But, I ain't taking you no where. So, you best go ahead and get that out of your head."

"I'm not _running_ anywhere," Beth pulls herself around the back of the truck to stand on the side where the man in the vest does and stands a little taller. "What would make you think that, anyway?"

The key slides through the lock and he's twisting his door open, "You're a kid, sitting by yourself outside a gas station, with nothing but a backpack and a runny nose." She bites a remark back, before he continues. "I don't need to be gettin' sent to The Pen, because I took some teenage girl over state lines. Seen enough of a prison to last me a lifetime," he ends so quietly she almost misses it; she's supposed to miss it. There's something bitter in the way he speaks and the way his eyes twitch without his permission to the bike that he's got strapped away and back to the cab he's about to climb into.

But, he can't do that, because he's Beth's only chance to get back on track. "I'm _nineteen_," she breathes, a rush of panicked adrenaline fueling her forward. "I know I look kind-of young, but I'm not. So, no one would be arresting you for taking me anywhere. 'Sides, I'm _trying_ to get home. That's the whole problem."

"Don't matter," he tosses his wallet across the bench and slides inside. "I don't wanna take you, anywhere, anyway."

"You said you didn't want to leave me here, by myself, if someone had done something to me," the man moves to pull shut the door, but Beth races forward and grabs it before it can close shut. She knows she's being pushy. She _knows_ that begging isn't the way to get anything done or get anything accomplished. But, she stopped the door from closing and something tells her he could've pulled it shut on her, if he had bothered to really try. He certainly looks strong enough to over power the pull of her own muscle, she has no doubt about it. "No one hit me and no one touched me. But, I did get left behind."

The man's hand grips the door handle a little tighter and he stares straight forward, out of the front windshield, not saying a word.

"I - I don't have a lot of money, on me, if that's what would convince you. It's all in my suitcase on the bus, but," she steps closer into the open space between them. "But, you're from Georgia and if you just get me _anywhere_ near Atlanta, I can figure the rest out on my own and pay you for the gas and the trouble when we get there."

The look from before settles over his face, again, quiet and unsure. So, Beth halts her plea and waits. She watches his eyes drift over the steering wheel and down to the open space next to him on the bench seat. "Atlanta hmm...You'll pay me when we get there?" he asks and turns to stare into her eyes. They're blue, she notes. Blue and pointed and shockingly bright, as they bore into her and search for her honesty.

"_I'll pay you when we get there_."

Beth feels like they hold there - in this Exxon in Wherever, Virginia - figuring each other out for an eternity, until he finally tugs roughly at the truck door - her hand falling naturally away - and slamming it shut. Her heart falls from her chest, as she watches through the open window, as he shoves the appropriate key in the ignition, brings the engine to life, and moves the control shift into drive. She takes a few steps back from the vehicle, so that he doesn't run her over when he drives away, in his haste to escape the stare of some desperate girl he doesn't know or want to know. She looks down to the count the cracks in the cement and attempts to smother away her disappointed.

What was this man supposed to do? Was he supposed to go out of his way to -

"Well, get in."

Beth snaps her head up to the man not looking at her. His hands have moved to grab at the wheel, one elbow lifted up to rest against the window sill. She doesn't take the time to take him him; unsure and expecting a change in mind, she races around the front of the truck. Her knees still crick, as she grasps the passenger door's handle, pulls her side open, and climbs inside.

She's hit suddenly by a strong, but faintly faded, smell of cigarette smoke. It's light in the air and seeped deep and formed into the dark fabric of the cushions, after what she knows is years and years of use. But, it's not overwhelming or off-putting, like Maggie's car had been after a house party she'd attended back in high school, when a bottle of vodka had spilled all over the back seat and a strange skunky smell had waded through the air. From what she knows of this man she's known all of ten minutes, total, this is familiar to him.

This smell.

This is something long embedded into his life.

Beth shuffles her shoulders, awkwardly, as she attempts to push the straps of her bag off of her back. She tries not to look over while the truck lurches out of it's settled position and begins easing away from the pump and out of the parking lot. She doesn't need or want to see if he's watching her flap around, like a baby bird first discovering it's wings.

She's just shoving her pack down onto the floor in the space between her feet, when she suddenly realizes what she's doing. The man's truck has pulled out onto the highway and is gaining speed to keep up with the traffic he's driven into, and Beth realizes what she's done. Her parents would more than frown on this. Her Daddy's voice might actually raise at her if he ever found out.

She's not afraid, though.

She's not.

The ride is steady and sure and she finds her mind spacing with every turn of the wheels. There's something about the uncertainty she's seen in his face and the initial flash of concern in his eyes from when he'd come up to her on the curb, that makes her believe she's put her stock in a good man. But, her belief in the stock of the good people in the world don't change the fact that it's not exactly normal to hitch a ride like this, anymore. It's not safe to stick your thumb out and climb into the truck of a man from the sticks.

Beth's seen more than enough stories flash dangerously on the news where this ends painfully for the girl with the backpack and the wetness in her eyes.

He's sat so far away from her, though, and there's not been a single lingering look, from what she's seen. Hell, he thought she was a runaway, only a little while ago. It's naive, she knows Shawn would tell her it was naive, but she really doesn't think that this trip will end with her dead in a ditch.

She's got faith in the man in the vest.

"Daryl," his voice speaks from her left and Beth twists her head away from where she's been watching the sun dip below the horizon and the cars pass by in her peripheral vision, for however long they've been on the road.

"Hmm?"

"My name's Daryl," he keeps driving - a large semi truck with a picture of a giant corn-dog painted along the side, falling behind them. "...Figured you should know."

"_Daryl_," Beth let's the name drip from her lips and grins brightly, in gratitude, at her new companion. She hadn't thought to ask his name - another detail of this story she plans to omit when she explains to her family how she managed to get home. He seems like a Daryl, though. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Daryl."

"Hmm."

For more than an hour, Daryl keeps his foot steady on the wheel - the motorcycle in the bed holding firm and quiet, in the back, and the wind whipping through his open window swirling the sent of a slight natural musk through the cab. The sun's all but gone, now, the orange tinge of it's last remains painting thin across the black sky. It's pretty; she's more able to appreciate the aesthetic nature of the encompassing night in this beat up old truck than she was on the bus - the truck's seats softer than the insistent scratching of the fabric from before and the ragged bumps of the contraption's wheels against the formed potholes. Her breathing evened out many miles back and her eyes dried, as well. She's comfortable in a situation she suspects she shouldn't be. But, Daryl is silent, as he pushes them forward, and Beth has a feeling that not speaking is his nurtured normal. The cab, itself, has no more sound than the whistling wind, while the fallen strands of her hair whips gently around her face.

After awhile, Beth feels a small pain in her stomach forming from her lack of a proper meal, today, begin to form. She'd had nothing for breakfast and only one granola bar on the bus. But, she doesn't want to disturb the night. When her stomach finally betrays her, however, and lets out a loud gurgling grumble of protest, she grimaces in her spot. But, a huff of breath from behind the driver's seat, that Beth's certain is something of a laugh, has her holding back an embarrassed grin, "Sorry 'bout that."

"Nah," Daryl shakes his head and continues to scan the road.

A small vibration shivers up Beth's leg, from where her backpack sits along the surface of the truck and she leans forward to pull the zipper open and dig around inside. When she comes up with her phone, she sees a text message from Maggie and hastens to click it open.

_Im so sorry, Bethy! I didn't mean to miss u. Are u okay? We're gonna get you, I promise! What's the address?_

"Looks like there's a diner off the next exit," Daryl leans back in his seat and flicks his turn signal on to head into the lane he needs to be in. He doesn't turn to her, as he never seems to do. "I could eat somethin'," Beth watches the line of his lips even out as he makes the turn off into a little town; that same concerned glimmer flashing once through his eyes.

_Don't worry, Mags._

Beth types back into her phone.

_I've figured it out._

* * *

_Alrighty then, let's get this thing rolling. Thank you for readinggg. Please review?_


	3. A Side Of Bacon

She can't see much as they pass by all of the wide and open space surrounding the truck and the road. The pastel pink glow of the falling sky is gone and replaced by the white gleam of the moon and the stars, shining down and lighting the large patches of grass and field and home. Beth cranes her neck back to look up at them through the sunroof for a moment, while Daryl sits still straight in his seat and makes his way down the long of the road; passing by the open land, houses spread far apart and outlined by short wooden fence postings. It's not too far of a drive before he slows to a traffic light and waits for the signal, while she twirls her phone in her palms - counting out the vibrations pulsing against her hands and forcing herself to not study the man to her left, before he can pull out to their right onto an off street.

An old and steadied _Waffle House_ stands before them when they pull cleanly into the lot, the yellow wrap around of the top of the building glowing brightly into the dead of the night. There's a few cars settled in the surrounding spaces, as Daryl wedges his truck into an empty spot and turns off the engine.

Another buzz zips out from her phone and Daryl glances down towards where she's holding it, for a discrete moment, before pushing his side door open and smoothly lowering himself to the ground. It's so quiet and so clean that Beth finds herself pausing briefly in her seat, where she's clicking open her side, watching him close the door behind him and wondering how a man of such muscled mass can possibly move so silently.

After grabbing her change purse from her backpack, she's out of the car a few seconds later - trailing behind where he's moving swiftly towards the front door. Beth notices a pair of large angel wings stitched onto the back of his vest, for the first time, as they're walking up the concrete of the sidewalk. The wings are long and wide and detailed with a far faded cameo fabric. She can barely tell that the pattern is even there underneath the yellow sheen of the light, but it is, light and worn just like the skin of the leather.

A small gust of wind plays with a few strands of her hair and there's a slight chill in the air that Beth hadn't felt earlier in the day while she was sitting on the curb, that has her pushing her sweater closer to her body, before following him into the safety of four walls.

A few heads raise when the pair of them enter, including an older women stood behind the counter, with long white hair, in a short sleeved blue button down that all of the other employees are wearing; her eyes gliding kindly over Beth before squinting unsuredly at the man she's arrived with. Most of the people inside stay focused on their meals or their coffee or the people that they're with; ignoring them completely, like civilized people do. But, naturally, a few patron's interests peak, momentarily, at their arrival. Glancing ahead to the man striding in front of her, towards one of the brown booths in the back, with his long and unruly hair, his dirty work boots, his leather vest, and his frown and thinking of _herself_ in her fluffy sweater and her sweet cowboy boots - bright blonde hair pulled into a neatly done braid...she's really not all that surprised.

They look completely mix matched.

They look out of place, with each other.

They look like the strangers that they _are_.

Beth brushes her fly ways behind her right ear and offers the woman a small nod, before picking up her pace and a sliding into the booth that Daryl has already tucked himself into. She sits across from him; settling her change purse and cellphone down on the green of the tabletop and crossing her legs carefully at her ankles, as not to come into contact with him down below. Daryl's scratching at his arm, again, and looking away from where Beth sits - over to the window and out to the road. His entire demeanor is back to how was as he stood over where she sat in the Exxon parking lot. He's uncertain and uncomfortable sat here with her, she can tell. It's _carefully_ but not completely masked, now that he's out of the familiar - home field advantage - territory of his own vehicle. With the evidence laid out in front of her, Beth's decided that he seems determined to pay as little attention to her being with him, as he possibly can; his eyes constantly settling anywhere other than her face - only looking over when he feels she won't catch his notice.

Beth can't focus on that, though. She can't feel too worried about it. If Mister Daryl, here, ain't interested in speaking with her during the entirety of this trip, she's fine enough going along with it. He _is_ only giving her a ride into Atlanta, after all, and his main incentive for this mind melding generosity is the money she's promised to get to him when they arrive and far less of a hidden desire to find himself a new friend. Their silence isn't casual in the way it was for the hour that they spent on the road, though, and Beth fiddles with her hands while she tries to decide if she should speak.

Her phone buzzes, before she comes to a conclusion on what to do, however; the zip of energy burning suddenly through the table, startling her feet apart to slap against the floor and Daryl's eyes away from the window. Beth frowns nervously and slides the interruption, of nothing but their muzzled silence, closer to where her chest is pressed against the side of the table. She clicks her screen on to see that her dying battery has drained further into the red zone, before stabbing open her messages.

_um what is that supposed to mean exactly?_

_what do u mean u 'figured it out'?_

_beth ur not doing something stupid right?_

_did haley come get u?_

_i mean from what you've told me i doubt one of the other girls you live with took their heads out of their asses for a few minutes to help someone else..._

_u get on another bus?_

_hello beth?_

_did your phone die or something?_

_bethy you'd tell me if something was wrong yeah?_

Beth's thumb slides smoothly against the screen, as she scrolls through her sister's onslaught of focused worry and tries to think of what she should say back - what she _can_ say back that won't stress Maggie out more than she already is. There isn't many ways that Beth can think of that don't sound crazy. She gets it - her sister's worry - she really does. If Maggie called her, for some reason, from another state with a cry in her voice and panic on her sleeves, Beth might respond the same way. (Even though the chances Maggie would ever choose her little sister for help, of all people, seeing as Beth's got no car and no money and lives in New York - is slim.) Still, she takes a second to feel guilty that she wasn't sure what to say, earlier - wasn't sure how to describe her plan with Daryl, a man she just met, without causing a tornado of worry from the Greene's.

If she says the wrong thing, here, Maggie will start a chatter chain line of doom and her family (and probably Glenn's family, too) will know within ten short minutes, that Beth's sitting in a booth in a _Waffle House_ in Wherever, Virginia with a man that isn't wearing any sleeves.

Beth can already imagine the _Older Brother Fury_ (something that she and Maggie have named over the years of his shuffling up to quivering nervous potential boyfriends or girl's starting stupid rumors about them during school) of Shawn if he learns that his baby sister is hitching a ride with a man in his thirties.

..._Forties?_

She literally _doesn't know_.

"That-" Beth's surprised as she's suddenly listening to Daryl clear his throat - not in any way suspecting he would find a way to be the first of them to discover a decent reason to speak. She can see the movement of his hand, from above where she's reading through her novel of texts, as he points at her phone with his pinkie finger. "...Earlier, you mentioned a 'Maggie.' That her?"

Beth glances up to eye him and sees the old women from before walking down the isle with two menus tucked under her arm and a pot of coffee in hand, "Yeah, it is." Daryl hums while the women reaches the table.

"Hey there, folks," she places the menus down to the table and holds up the arm holding the pot. "Coffee?"

"Nope," Daryl mutters quietly and grabs one of the menu's in front of him, while Beth responds with a, _"No thank you,"_ of her own.

"What can I get ya to drink?" the woman asks, her voice rumbling with years and years of use, and waits for them to give her a response. Which they do - Beth as politely as she can manage, despite how preoccupied she is with both her worry and her hunger, and Daryl at his consistant low grumble of breath. "Well, alrighty," the women eyes Daryl for another pregnant pause, before turning to look at Beth. "I'll give you both a chance to figure out what you want."

Beth lifts her head from where she's distractedly reading, to watch the women leave, before pulling the left over menu to her and trying to focus on the front side and the multiple pictures of eggs done up in all different ways. "...Maggie's my sister," she continues where she left off, as she eyes the prices next to each meal, warily. Her change purse pretty darn thin and she knows she can't swing too much.

"Hmm."

"I called her, earlier. Before I called Daddy, even," she adds. "Neither of them answered the phone, though."

Maybe some bacon? She can probably afford a few slices of bacon.

Daryl places his menu back down onto the table and glances behind the top of the booth to check if their waitress is coming back to take their orders, but she's finishing filling their drinks and saying something Beth can't hear, to a man in a red cap, sitting by himself at the front counter. "Yeah," he fidgets back around when he doesn't see what he wants. "You said."

"I get it, though, you know?" she says, unsure with the way that Daryl's knotted his hands together, if he's waiting for her to shut her trap or somethin' along the lines of silence. "...'cause the house is so busy."

He's spared from pulling another two worded answer out from the deep depths of his soul, when the women returns with two cups in hand. "One water," she carefully places a glass in front of Beth - water is free - and two straws. "And a _Coke_. You both figured out what you want?"

"The large chili," Daryl answers and looks to Beth for a clear moment, picking up his menu and reaching out to take hers from her, as well, to start stacking them both in a neat pile at the end of the table.

"Oh, I'll just take the side of bacon," she looks from him to their waitress. _Barbra_ \- the small white name-tag pinned to the black apron she's got settled over her shirt, reads.

Daryl pauses in his actions, though, and looks at her with an eyebrow raised. "A side'a bacon?" he questions and drops his gaze pointedly to where her stomach is hidden under the table. "Ten minutes ago, you were rumblin' something fierce."

"Oh, yeah, well," Beth feels her cheeks heat up and she glances to where Barbra is looking between them. "All my money's on the bus and I only got a bit with me."

"That why you got water? 'Cause you only got a couple bucks?" he cocks his head. Barbra does, too, though it's directed to the man questioning her order.

Beth doesn't respond to that, out loud, she just shrugs her shoulders and tries to fight off the hunger pain in her stomach. It feels like she hasn't eaten in a week, which is stupid, because she had that granola bar, today. "The bacon's fine, thanks Barbra," Beth nods decidedly.

But, Daryl does the opposite in the same exact manner.

"Nah," he shakes his head - the concern from the Exxon parking lot and the concern from the truck when her stomach first rolled, flashing through his eyes. It's still careful and hidden and Barbra's still looking at him like he's something she should be worried about for the blonde sitting across from him. But, Beth's looking at him like a man putting himself way out of his way for something so unimportant; she's okay - she'll make it to Atlanta without dying of starvation, she's sure. "Get what you want, girl. It's fine."

"Daryl, I don't wanna put you out. You're already doin' so much for me."

He shakes his head, again, "Get what you want. It don't matter."

Beth watches him swiftly drag her menu back away from the pile he's created, with gratitude, before going to say something else. Her travel companion is looking down at her menu, himself, though, waiting for her to make a choice.

"Okay, umm," Beth hastens to glance over what she's already done, as to not put their waitress out anymore than she already has. "Guess I'll take the blueberry waffles, with that same side of bacon, and an orange juice?"

Daryl's head tips in something of a nod and he pulls her menu out of her hands and places it back in his stack.

Barbra watches him do this, before writing down her choice. "Alright sweetheart. I'll get that going for you," she hums, grabs the menus away from the table, and turns away on a hesitant foot and back to the kitchen.

"Thank you," Beth says, as soon as Barbra has walked away. "I can add that on to what I'll get you in Atlanta, but that was very kind." Another silence settles over them, as Daryl clears his throat in what she supposes is an _"It's fine"_ of some kind, and Beth thinks that maybe she should start a tally of how often they'll settle into this lack of words - comfortable or not. She reckons it'll be often, with the way Daryl seems to retreat once more than a few syllables are spoken at a time.

Everything about this way of being should feel worrisome - that this man she's traveling with doesn't seem to want to speak to her, at all. But, this is his third act of kindness in less that two hours and she's still not bothered in a way that she knows that someone like Haley would be.

Haley's patience for this silence would've ended before her and Daryl had even pulled out of the Exxon parking lot, Beth's more than positive. Her sharp tongue would cut at the silent and gruff being before her, and she'd probably end up with her bottom on the side of the highway and in the mud. Beth doesn't feel this same anger and annoyance that Haley would probably feel, with Daryl's lack of speech. But, she does feel a little antsy at their loss of what to say. She feels like _she's_ got a lot to talk about, even if Daryl doesn't, and she wonders if his knuckles will pull back together, if she unburdens some of herself, in a less frantic tone than she had when she'd been desperate for him to allow her to climb inside of his truck.

"Maggie's usually the person I turn to if I need help with something," her mouth opens before her mind can catch up with it and she reaches back out for her phone to steady herself. "Yeah, growin' up any time I had anything resembling a problem, Maggie always just knew, you know? It's a sibling thing, I figure..." Daryl's eyes train up to her, from where they'd been focused on the tabletop, and he taps a finger in place. "Siblings are just like that - always around to help you out when you need it. I mean, I suppose some _aren't_ like that...but, the best do their best, even when it doesn't got a prayer of doin' any good. Even when it sometimes does more _harm_ than good."

She taps at a button and opens up a response, while Daryl clasps his hands together - his thumb tracing a repetitive pattern into the flesh of his fist.

"If there was ever a boy about, looking for my affections or whatever it is that teenage boys are looking for -"

"- They're lookin' for your affections, alright."

Beth looks up from where her thumbs are hovering over the keypad at his remark. She knows what he means, of course, she ain't stupid. But, Daryl's face is as flat and closed off as it was before. His eyes aren't trailing over her in the way those boys probably were doing behind her back. He says it as fact. He was a teenage boy at some point (although Beth can't pull an image into her head of what a teenage Daryl could've _possibly_ looked like), so he probably knows for sure. His simple honesty makes her huff a laugh and lets the tiniest bit of tension drip from her shoulders, before looking back down to the phone.

"Yeah, _affections_," she grins and tilts her head side to side a few times. "If I came to her needing help with them or anyone like them - whether it was getting them away or pulling 'em in, she always found the time to give some advice or handle it, even though she's older with better things to do. So, I called her, first."

"...Didn't answer, though."

"No, but...I'm fine with a free pass on it," Beth hits a few buttons. "She's getting married this weekend, after all...to Glenn. His family owns a pizza house in Atlanta. You might've had it, being from Georgia."

Daryl keeps moving his thumb, "Maybe."

_Hey Mags, my phone's on minimum battery and I can't find a plug. I've got a ride and you don't have to worry._

"Anyway," Beth feels a large sigh roll through her body and threaten to escape. She caps it as best she can, releasing a smaller show of exasperation. Daryl's just going to be leaving her in Atlanta, when they arrive, but she doesn't know who she'll be able to rook into picking her up from there, yet, and she doesn't want to seem ungrateful when they do. Not that Daryl seems the type to gap out everything she tells him on this journey to any of her relatives. "Everyone's spending all of their time getting ready for it...it's why I'm on my way home. For the whole wedding experience. And, like I said, the house is busy, so..."

_I know you will, though. So, the second I find a plug, I'm gonna call mom and give her the details, so y'all wont send out a brigade. I promise I won't forget. Love you._

Daryl watches her finish typing out the rest of her message to Maggie, before she shuts off her phone to save what's left of the juice; his eyes hiding just well enough behind the bits of rough cut hair that falls in his face. She thinks that he probably cuts it, himself, whenever he decides that he can no longer see.

"So, what about you?" Beth pushes her phone to the side and tucks her ankles back together.

Daryl's finger stops tapping and he squints at her face, "...What about me?"

There's a large bang of a pan, from somewhere behind them in the kitchens, and a rounding laugh from the man sitting at the counter, in response to whatever just happened. Everyone inside the diner is settled into comfortable chatter and Beth can hear a few of the waiters, up front, talking about their nights, before.

"You're from Georgia, right," she states. "You know why I'm going home. Why are you?"

"'Cause that's where I live," Daryl hums and pulls his hand back to rub at the flesh of his arm.

Beth laughs lowly - pulling his gaze back to her - and bounces her head in acknowledgment. "Well, yeah," she grins and widens her eyes in question. "Okay, so why were you in Virginia, then?"

"Ain't no concern of yours."

"Oh, come on!" Beth smiles and reaches a hand out to tap briefly at his arm, which immediately tenses underneath her touch, even after she's already pulled away. Apparently, she's changed her mind. She feels a need to fill their silence. "If it's something embarrassin' I promise I won't tell anyone," she teases - even though she's not sure they're in a position where the man will appreciate such a thing.

Daryl pulls his arms completely away from the table top and tucks them into his lap. He looks away from her and back out of the window, where cars are still zipping by on the highway. They sit there for a few minutes; Daryl staring outside and Beth's smile fading from her face with each passing second, as she loses any hope that he plans to respond.

"Visitin' my brother," Daryl finally mumbles - the muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth together. "And picking up the bike."

"Oh?" she's more than a little surprised that he pulled the conversation back, but Beth recognizes effort when she sees it. "What's his name? He lives out here?"

"His name's Merle...and yeah, I s'pose he does," he nods his head slightly and coughs. "For now, at least."

"The motorcycle's your's? Or his?"

"...It's his."

Her interest peaks, even though her stomach growls painfully, "Do you know how to ride a motorcycle, though?" Daryl nods and she leans forward onto her elbows, "Oh, that must be so much fun! I've never been on a bike, you know. Think my Daddy would kill me if he even guessed that I was thinkin' about it."

Daryl shrugs, "It's not bad, 'long as you're not a jackass 'bout it."

"Got a lot of experience with people being jackasses about it, then?"

"A bit."

Beth can feel the uncertain tension from before, when they first sat down into the booth, dripping out of bones. This ain't so bad, really. He's not too talkative on his own, clearly. But, her small pushes seem to be doing something of the trick. It's better this way, she thinks. Beth's okay with silence - a lot of the time, she prefers silence to unnecessary chatter. But, her travel companion and her still have something of an eleven hour drive ahead of them and the idea of getting to know the person behind the wheel, a little bit, seems the smart thing to do. Seems the thing Shawn would be yelling at her to do.

"You said," she settles into their currently established atmosphere and allows herself to relax into a more comfortable seated position. "- that your brother lives here 'for now.' Is he moving?"

"No."

"No?"

Daryl narrows his eyes and clutches his hands where they rest in his lap. "...He's in The Pen," he says lowly - his voice strategically sharp. "I was just gettin' his shit and making sure he wasn't planning on stabbing anyone."

Beth's eyes open and her mouth hovers in a failed attempt to respond.

"Don't need him in there any longer than he's gotta be," he finishes and turns back out to the window.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You ain't the dumbass."

Barbra shuffles up through the aisles with a tray perched carefully in one hand. "Here you are, dearies," she chimes - her voice too chipper for the mistake Beth's stepped into. A glass of orange juice is set in front of her, while Barbra places the waffles in front of Beth and a yellow bowl full of chili in front of Daryl. "They're both hot, so be careful, you hear?"

Beth watches her turn on her heels and walk away from them, before turning her focus on Daryl who's pulling a spoon out of a wrapped napkin. She's not sure what the look on his face is supposed to mean. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes are downcast where his food is sat and he's not looking over at her; none of which is a surprise. She's not sure if he's angry or if he's resigned to the situation or if he's _embarrassed_ for where his brother is.

"My dad used to get arrested all of the time," Beth starts without meaning to - her waffles sat untouched. She notes Daryl's eyebrow raise slightly higher into his hairline, like he can't possibly believe that statement, but he doesn't speak. "He had a real bad drinking problem...Got it from his dad, I figure. Ended up being what he'd always told himself he wouldn't..."

Daryl clutches at his spoon and dips it, just so, into his chili. "...Not a surprise," he bites halfheartedly, like he knows exactly what her dad was talking about. And maybe he does, what with his brother being sat in prison.

"Guess not," Beth agrees with a shrug of her shoulders. "It was real bad for awhile, though, after my sister's real Mama died - way before Daddy got remarried to my Mom and I came along." Daryl shovels a spoonful into his mouth and darts his eyes between her and the bowl in front of him. "But, he'd go into town and get...just..._trashed_ and he just _kept_ getting tossed in the drunk tank, over and over and over..."

"Hmm."

"I'm sorry about Merle, Daryl," Beth watches him for a few more seconds, before pulling away to give him some space. She moves to pull her own silverware out of her folded paper napkin and slice away a piece of her waffle. When she takes her first bite, she practically melts into the table when it hits her tongue and she hears Daryl huff a laugh.

"You gonna make it?" he teases her back, from earlier, and smirks at the look on her face.

She's happy to know her teasing from earlier was taken in good spirits and she grins happily, "Thanks for the waffles, Daryl."

* * *

_Note: Okay, can I just say that I have a plan for this and I'm so excited that it's almost embarrassing? So, I hope you'll all be as into it as I am! Thank you for reading, thank you to all guest reviews from the last chapter. And please review? I wanna know how people think it's going, I'm greedy._


	4. Just An Eight Hour Drive

Beth pushes her way outside of the _Waffle House_ and strides slowly down the slanted sidewalk towards Daryl's truck, while he stands inside at the front counter with his wallet in hand, waiting to pay for both of their meals.

The air is crisp against her skin as a gust a wind blows past, while she sniffles through the distance it takes for her to reach the passenger's side door. It's locked and she's got no way inside without him, so she turns to press her butt flat against the metal and leans her back on the window. The stars in the sky shine high and bright above her, painting their black canvas alongside the swell of the moon, and it's pretty - especially now that her stomach isn't pinching at her in a desperation of it's own. It reminds her of home. Her _real_ home back on the farm, where you can constantly see such things, instead of the foggy and lighted filter of New York, where she has to imagine what she used to be so familiar with.

She watches through the windows, as Daryl pulls out the appropriate bills that he needs and hands it over to their waitress, and frowns into her sweater, where she's tucked her face to hide from the cold. It's kind - a real act of generosity - that Daryl made sure that Beth ate something that would file away the pain in her stomach, but she can't help but feel bad that he feels like he has to. There's probably something incredibly annoying about supporting her, like this, when he doesn't even know her last name or anything else important about her or her life. But, _he's_ the one that forced her to order something else, after she'd settled on the cheapest possible thing she could get. So, she supposes he isn't too upset about it.

Still, Beth makes sure to add her total to her mental checklist, so that she won't forget to pay him back for the best waffles she's had in a long time - too used to boxed _Eggos_, these days, than anything made from fresh batter.

She rolls in her place, stumbling closer to the bed and the motorcycle that Daryl's strapped tightly into place. Beth would be lying to herself if she said that she wasn't curious as to how Daryl's brother, _Merle_, ended up in a prison in Virginia. She wonders if it was something simply foolish that had gathered the attention of law enforcement, or if it was the kind-of dangerous thing that always ended up on the nightly news. Looking at the motorcycle, she imagines that this Merle man must be somethin' like the guy getting back his change in the diner next to her. He probably wears leather, like Daryl does, and he probably has a presence about him and he probably causes quite a stir, if his being incarcerated says anything. But, she clearly doesn't know the man, so she supposes she can't even begin to figure out what he's like. Or what he's done to be where he is.

Beth reaches her hands up to grip the side of the truck and she leans in to peak around the vehicle. There ain't much inside the bed other than Merle's bike, though. From what she can see in the dark of the night with nothing but the light of the _Waffle House's_ yellow sign and the moon, there's two or three crunched cigarette packs, a few loose pieces of paper, and a dark and heavy fabric bag sitting tucked into the corner, near the driver's side door.

"Don't got much," Daryl's voice comes to her quietly, from where he's walking through the door and down the same steps she just took.

"Not a heavy packer?"

"Nah," he rounds the front of the truck to step off the sidewalk to his side, where he tugs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, before reaching in and clicking a button that unlocks her side. "Don't need much, wasn't attending a ball or some shit like that."

Beth laughs quietly, as she pulls her door open and first reaches inside to drag her backpack to her and unzips the top to throw her change purse and her phone inside, "Don't like to dance, I take it?" The look he shoots her - all raised brow and pointed tilt of the head - says everything she needs to know about that. She pulls herself up and in and pulls the door shut against the cold.

Daryl shoves the key in the ignition and starts the engine. He doesn't pull away from the curb, though. Instead he glances at Beth's red nose (blessingly red from the air, instead of tears, now) and tinkers with the heat for a moment. The green glow of the clock on the dash reads that it's just past nine at night and Beth's surprised it isn't much later. It feels like this day has lasted longer than a day ever should. Standing in her cramped and chaotic apartment, savagely searching for her sweater, while Haley and the rest of the girls chatter away in the kitchen, feels like it happened the week prior. Sitting on the bus, listening to those high school students go on about their problems at unbelievable levels of volume feels like a sort-of strange dream. Sitting outside the gas station, trying not to cry, feels...fresh. Fresh, but fizzled in terms of the crisis she'd been feeling at the time.

And now?

Now, she's just _tired_ from this emotional marathon she's unintentionally found herself running.

Beth places a hand in front of her mouth and blocks her sudden responding yawn from sounding out too loudly and then pulls at the hem of her sleeves to cover her fingers, as she waits for the heat to wash over her. There's a small clicking noise from the vents, rhythmic and quiet, but Daryl doesn't even seem to notice that it's there, as he finally sets the truck in motion and pulls them out and away from the yellow glow. So, she assumes it's been making that noise for awhile.

When he reaches the edge of the parking lot, Daryl doesn't pull out to the highway. Instead, he sits the car there and stares off into the empty streets of the town and plucks at his bottom lip with his thumb and his index finger. The nail of his thumb is bitten down to the nub and he scans his surroundings.

"I wasn't," he starts - his voice calling out softly over the clicking of the heat. But, he pauses in his sentence and starts driving again. It's only a few minutes later, Beth's mind focusing on the passing of the trees and the _click click click_ of the heat, more than Daryl's lost sentence, until he's pulling the car to the right and into another parking lot; this one is far more empty than the one of the _Waffle House_ had been - only a two or three cars making an appearance under the white glow of the stationary lights attached to the low buildings. Beth glances around where they've pulled into, her eyes finding the short white sign sitting in a bed of red wood chips, surrounding by carefully stacked red brick.

_Royal Inn Motel_

"I," Daryl starts speaking again, refusing to look over at where she sits reading the sign and looking even more uncertain then she's seen him during their short time, together. "I wasn't planning on driving through the night, before you asked for a ride," he continues grumbling, looking over at the sign, himself, and clearing his throat. "Thought I'd just pull over somewhere safe and sleep in the truck. But, I ain't gonna do that with you here, so..."

Beth just nods.

Slow.

Slow and hesitant.

And he's smart, so he sees that.

"Could get yourself a chance to sleep somewhere that ain't this bench...Fresh for the drive into Georgia, tomorrow."

Beth looks through the windshield and feels him secure his eyes on her, while she's not able to watch him look. She reminds herself that she's already decided that she's completely safe with this man - that Daryl has done _nothing_ to give her the impression she's going to end up as a cautionary tale to other unsuspecting girls. In fact, he's done the exact opposite. Nothing but good deed after good deed and good deed. But, despite all of that kindness out of this rough packaged man, that still doesn't make it any less strange to imagine herself piling out of this truck and into a motel room with a man she met on the very same day.

That's what she finds herself doing, however, as she grabs her backpack out from between her legs and shoves her door open to hobble out of the truck and onto the asphalt below. This will just have to be another situation she eliminates from her story, when she finally manages to get one of them on the phone. Although, there ain't many ways she can trick her family into thinking she didn't spend the night _somewhere_, so she's not so sure what she'll say. A carefully constructed version of the truth, she figures. Daryl stays behind for a moment and watches her start across the lot, before shutting off the engine (another good sign - that'd he'd been waiting to see if she was okay with staying) and hopping out, himself. He grabs behind the cab for the bag she saw earlier, swings it over his shoulder, and starts after her towards the main building.

A middle aged women is sat behind the front desk, dark hair falling in ringlets around her face which is staring up at a television secured in the corner of the walls, playing an old episode of _Family Feud_. She tilts her head down from where she's guessing answers under her breath to smile at them, "Hey there! Come on in, come on in."

"Hello," Beth greets back, as the pair of them pile through the front door, and steps out of the way for Daryl to walk up to the front. He already knows that she barely has enough money for bacon, so she doubts he expects much of her, here. They passed a Pepsi machine out front, though, so maybe she can buy them both something to drink for the road, tomorrow.

"Need a room," Daryl huffs. "Just the night."

"Not a problem," the women informs with a click of her fingers. From what Beth can see, she's operating on a simple form. "Need a name," she asks, clicking into her computer and opening up a chart.

"Daryl Dixon."

_Daryl Dixon_. It rolls through Beth's head a few times over, while he receives their room key and directions on how to get there. _Daryl Dixon_. She appreciates the alliteration of it all. It sounds really..._right_. It sounds right, just like Daryl's first name had sounded right and seems to match him so well - to suit him so much.

"Have a _great_ night, you two," the woman says, while Daryl takes the keys and turns on his heel without another word. Beth, though, looks back at dark ringlet curls and feels the heat of her cheeks flame, just a little, as she takes in the face of the lady before her - takes in the way her eyes drift over Daryl's form and back to Beth, expectantly. The woman's smiling the kind-of smile that Haley smiles when she sees a guy talking to Beth at the counter at a bar, and tilting her head towards Beth in well wishes. She's not sure what the woman thinks this is or thinks is going to happen once the pair of them get into that room, but she can venture a guess. She can completely venture a guess. Even though Beth knows that _that's_ not somethin' that's an option (or something either of them are even thinkin' about), it still shocks her a little to hear someone she doesn't know speak about them - two complete strangers - in such a tone.

Especially considering the fact that their waitress at the diner was looking at them like Daryl had stolen Beth from her home out of her bed in the middle of the night and was currently on the run from the law for his dirty deed.

Daryl doesn't seem to notice the tilt in her tone, at all, though. So, Beth does the same that he's doing: ignores her and just shuffles out of the front check in and back out into the short rush of the wind. He strides past the first low slung brick building and over to the second, filing down the open walk until he lands outside of _B3_. He unlocks the door with a sure hand and steps inside. Beth follows after him, just as he'd followed after her, before. She walks past where he stands to the tan switch on the wall and flicks the lights on to take in the situation.

It's relatively clean, for what she and the rest of the world tends to picture when they think of the state of motels; broken and stained and odorous. But, it's not the Plaza, either. There's two full beds sat with less than a foot of space between them. They're both covered with ugly flowered comforters, lumpy and long used, and framed by two fairly dinky end tables with cheap lamps settled on top. But, there's a television in front of them, that looks like it wasn't bought too long ago and there's pillows and everything looks sanitary enough, so Beth's feeling alright. She can stay here for a night and not get too skeeved.

When she hears the shutter of Daryl pushing the door closed, though, she feels a sudden awkwardness seep over her. The lock clicking into place rings like a gunshot in her ears and she can picture Haley laughing at her to _relax it's just a boy, Beth honey_. It's not like Beth hasn't been alone with boy, before. She has. Obviously. There was Zach, after all. And she'd been alone with Jimmy way back when, even though her Daddy hadn't needed to worry quite as much as he thought he should've done.

But, Daryl feels very un-boy-like.

He feels very present.

And _this is weird._

When she looks over at him, from where she's been hovering embarrassingly in self evaluation, he seems to of been doing the same. The fact that he appears just as put out by their sudden situation, however, eases her some. So, she breaks herself out of her trance, moves away from where they're standing near the entrance, and places her backpack on the bed closest to the furthest wall. "Home sweet home," Beth shrugs one slight shoulder and turns to look behind her for a moment, before finally finding a plug, and unzips her bag to find her phone and her charger.

Her movement shocks him into doing the same, so he follows her lead and tosses his duffel bag onto the bed she's essentially assigned to him, with a pretty decent _thump_. He's rifling through his things, in the next second, just as she is. But, when she comes up with her charger in hand, he comes up with two dark clumps of fabric, clutching them tightly between his fingers.

"I'mma...change," he says, looking her over and holding still where he stands for a moment in silence, before finally starting his was across the floor and walking through the bathroom door, without another sound.

"Okay..." Beth watches the souls of Daryl's boots pad their way across the shift of the carpet, making large and fading imprints as he goes, and waits until the door clicks shut, before leaning down to shove the charger into the socket and connecting it where it's most needed and dialing as quickly as her fingers will allow.

She settles herself on the end of the lumpy bed that she's claimed while she settles her cell against the flat of her ear, as the repetitive trill of the ring sounds out through her phone and into the dead quiet space of the room. Beth doesn't have to wait long, before the sound cuts off, suddenly, and her mom's voice is humming through the line.

_"Hello?"_ she greets, her voice far enough away from the device to be noticeable. Beth can hear the familiar scratch of the cord against the metal legs of the stool, telling her that she's sat in the kitchen next to the mounted white line. The sound, alone, of her mom greeting her is always enough to spark the painful clench of Beth's heart. So much so that, while she's been away, she's found herself calling less and less; not sure if she can handle the homesickness that comes with her mom's controlled concerns and doting.

"Mom, it's Beth," she manages, despite the pull in her chest, to make herself sound as positive as she can. Although, she doesn't attempt to hide the tiredness in the tone of her voice, from her long and wary day. Her parents could tell she was tired even if she tried to stuff it away, so she's sees no point in bothering.

_"Bethy, sweetheart? Oh, thank the lord!"_ she listens as Annette stands from the stool and practically pictures her mom sticking her head out and around the kitchen archway to yell into the front room, where Daddy's probably reading some book for the millionth time. _"Hershel! Beth's on the phone!"_ her voice is faraway, again, as if she's pulled the phone away from her face, to spare her daughter from the full impact. Beth can't hear the following distinct words, but she can hear the faded formed sounds of her Daddy calmly answering back in the background, like the teacher in Charlie Brown used to do in all of the Saturday morning cartoons she used to watch while she was growing up. _"I don't rightly care if you __**knew **__she'd be fine, Hershel Franklin Greene."_ Beth chuckles under her breath, as her Daddy's name rings out. _"Put down that book and pick up the other line."_

"What's he reading, now?"

_"Do we ever know?"_ her voice settles back against the speaker. _"Oh sweetheart, we got your messages! I was so worried once I realized that we'd missed you."_

"It's fine..." A loud clunking sound inside the motel bathroom has Beth cutting her eyes to the doorway where Daryl is changing on the other side. There's something drilling at the back of her head at the thought of this man - _Daryl Dixon_ \- undressing just a few feet away from her. It's a silly thought, though, she knows. _She beyond knows_. Especially seein' as he's not in the room with her and she's not _seeing_ anything of him. But, it lingers there in that spot nonetheless that this day is full of things she's never thought she'd be one to experience. She never thought she'd get left behind in a state she barely knows anything about. She never thought she'd fix that situation by hitching a ride with the first person to show her any sort-of kindness. She never thought she'd meet a man, one day, and he'd be naked in her presence, however hidden away, later that same night.

Fortunately, (_or maybe unfortunately_, she thinks) she's never really been that girl.

Beth takes a moment and reminds herself that this isn't the same thing as that, at all. That the women at the reception desk in the main building of this motel doesn't know what she's talking about. That Daryl's first thought of her was that she was a sloppy teenager having a fit and running away from home. That it is _not_ abnormal that he's back there, taking off articles of clothing, while she sits her with her butt placed on an unfortunate bump of duvet. She doesn't expect him to sleep in his leather, after all. It's only natural.

_"It's __**not**__ fine, Beth,"_ her mom brings her back, though her eyes stay locked on the faux wood of the door. _"We've all been so busy, here. But, that's not anything of an excuse-"_

"I get it."

_"-and Maggie's been clutching her phone waiting for you to text back."_

_"I don't get why she didn't just call,"_ Hershel cuts in over Annette, with a soft sigh. _"Hello, little girl."_

"Hi, Daddy," Beth smiles where she sits. "My phone was dying, it's why I didn't call the house again, earlier."

_"Maggie told us that once you got back to her. But, you're alright, right?"_ her mom asks - the worry dripping from every syllable.

"Yeah, I am," Beth nods, turns her attention down, and runs her free hand over a small tear in the bedding. "Took me awhile to find a plug, 'course. But, I am alive and I didn't want you to worry any longer than you had to."

Hershel hums knowingly, _"I told you, Annette. Our Bethy is a smart girl."_

_"Her being a smart girl doesn't change the situation. I tell you, Beth, this wedding is messing with your father's brain."_ Beth nods silently along and plucks a piece of thread between two fingers, pulling gently and raising a small tent up and down.

_"Anyway, Beth,"_ her Daddy groans quietly; she figures he's settling next to her mom next to the wall. _"Where are you right now? Margaret said that you told her you've figured out a plan? You know how I feel: I don't like the idea of you traveling completely on your own."_

_"A cab, maybe? We'll pay for it when you get here."_

Beth shakes her head before she speaks, "I'm not in a cab, right now. No." The thread tears roughly away from the fabric for a few stitches and the bathroom door pulls open, in front of her. "I'm staying in Virginia over night. Barely a drive tomorrow."

Daryl's soft snort drags her eyes back up. "'Round _eight_ hours," his tone is quiet enough to not be heard over the phone, as she scans her eyes from the head down. There's a small chunk of rogue hair stuck up and disturbed into a tiny loop, from where he's pulled a new shirt over his head. This shirt, not a ripped apart button down, but a simple loose black t-shirt with a hole in the collar, has sleeves. Short, but there. She hurriedly passes by the small sliver of flesh of his stomach where his shirt isn't tugged right at the corner, before noting his old grey sweats. When she hits the bare of his toes, she darts her focus back to his face, where he's looking into his duffle bag, shoving his clothes away into a corner.

"Eight hours left, apparently. I'm just staying in a motel until morning," Beth shrugs a shoulder, even though she knows they can't see her. She doesn't need to see them, however, to know that they're looking at each other and frowning. "Stop worrying, you guys, it's fine. I promise...It's even clean."

_"Now, Beth, I don't know how safe that sounds,"_ her Daddy ponders and in Beth's tired state she only just suppresses the urge to mention that if they'd stuck her on a plane, _like she'd asked_, she would of been home already - she would of had dinner with them earlier that night. Hell, she would've been sat in the living room right this very minute with a wedding obsessed Maggie, an eager to please Glenn, and anyone else staying at the house who can still stand to be around the pair of them, watching Deal Or No Deal reruns or Password.

Man, she feels so gross, now that she thinks about it. She's gross and exhausted and her legs ache and she feels nasty all over. A day's worth of grime covers every inch of her skin - it's like she can feel it sliding against her. She wonders what the state of the shower is - if it's safe to step inside of it, bacteria wise. "I'm not alone, Daddy," Beth looks over at the arms she'd noted earlier when she was thinking about how Daryl could hurt her if he was someone she had to worry about. He could probably hurt other people, too, she knows. And, if this man cared enough to not leave her on the curb of a gas station with no one but the creepy clerk, she suspects he wouldn't just allow an axe murderer to come in the room and rip her apart, limb from limb. That he just might not be thrilled by that. "Probably ain't going to die, tonight."

Annette is quick to jump in, _"Not alone? Who are you with?"_

"Well," she starts, hesitating just slightly, as she looks over to her new companion. Unsure of how close to the truth she should be sticking, she rolls her head on she shoulders. "When I tried to get you all on the phone and didn't get an answer, I...just scrolled through my phone, thinking about my options." Daryl pushes his bag to the side and lowers himself on the edge of his own bed - sweats bunching limply at his ankles and fingers drifting out gently to knock at a stray pen on one of the night stands. He raises a brow where he's watching the pen spin in place, at the start of her lie. "And I eventually called...a friend," she stutters and looks away from Daryl, once more, pretending not to be interested in what his response to her calling him that for this purpose, might be. "And here I am."

_"Haley?"_ Annette's voice has calmed considerably, since the beginning of the call. _"She always was such a nice girl. If she's not busy this week, you're welcome to tell her she can stay for the wedding, of course."_

_"It's not crowded in here, at all." _Beth doesn't fail to note her Daddy's sarcasm.

"No, no..." her grip tightens on her cell and she reaches thin fingers back out to play with the thread. "Not Haley - she's got things to do and I got left around two hours out. Didn't think she would be able to find the time, even if she'd want to. Anyway, it's a friend and he came out to get me after my desperate plea and he didn't want to drive through the night, when he was tired. See?" Beth ignores her mother's questioning and interested hum. The more details she gives, the harder the lie. "Being so responsible."

Her Daddy puts on his strongest voice of interrogation, _"So you're safe?"_

"Absolutely safe," Beth hears Daryl shift behind her. "I'll be home, tomorrow."

"Middle of the afternoon," Daryl mumbles and slides the remote off of the wall. "Eight hour drive. Start in the morning. Probably 'round...three - three thirty - to get into Atlanta. "

_"We honestly can't wait for you to get here, Beth,"_ Annette says._ "Maybe finally having you around will be good for Maggie's nerves."_

Daryl clicks at the power button on the remote and the unexpected sound blares out around them - an ad for super powered dish detergent screaming out about how soft it will make the users hands, after they're done scrubbing away crusted meat loaf and slimy Alfredo sauce. "She's nervous?" Beth jumps from the shock of the noise - her voice hitching during her question in sudden alarm - while Daryl hastens to turn the volume down, a curse slipping from his throat.

Hershel is swift to answer, _"Not quite. Everything okay over there?"_

"Oh right, she's _crazy_." Daryl glances at her out of the corner of his eye and back, before he thinks she has a chance to notice his interest. "I've seen the Facebook wall. I've figured, as much. Not sure if _you're_ allowed to say that, though, Daddy. And it's fine, my friend just turned on the TV and whoever was here before us was _deaf_."

Daryl snorts a laugh.

_"No, she is __**not**__ crazy. She's __**excited**__,"_ her mom chastises, but there's a hint of a smile in her voice, despite the fact that Beth knows that she's being serious about them leaving her older sister alone. Annette might not be Maggie's biological mother, and there may of been a point in her life where she was worried that she wasn't enough for her adopted daughter, but she is Maggie's mom in every single way that Maggie's mother had been and she's game to stand up for her. And Annette has gotten married before, as well. Both to Shawn's biological father and Hershel. So, she probably understands the obsession with making sure everything is perfect for the big day, way better than Beth does - way better than her Daddy does, seeing as he's not loving the overpopulation that comes with this one. _"Stop it, you two."_

Beth nods to herself and looks up to the television, where an infomercial is selling a collection of knives, "Sorry, mom."

_"Listen,"_ Hershel says at the same time, while a tall pale woman with a blinding white smile and a fountain of hair demonstrates how well one of her long knives cuts through a slab of pork. _"You sound tired, so I want you to get some sleep."_

"Okay."

_"I mean it, Bethy,"_ he continues on - his voice firm and without room for any misunderstanding. _"We don't want you tiring yourself out anymore for the day. Get some sleep and get home."_

_"I second that, sweetheart. We've got dresses to try on and we've got future in-laws and bridesmaids walking around and you should head on to bed, so that you can be part of it, as soon as possible."_

Beth drops her gaze away from the television and back down to the tear, "I'll see you both tomorrow."

_"And your friend, of course? I'd love to thank him for helping you?"_ Annette hums again and, this time, Beth doesn't quite ignore the interest seeping into the question. She looks out of the corner of her eye to Daryl who's still sat at the edge of the bed - his back straight and his fingers clasped tightly together around the width of the remote, where he gazes unseeingly at the images on the screen. His face is settled, as it's been the majority of the time she's known him and she has more than a feeling that, even if he's not been openly showing it, he's calculatin' the entire conversation from her end.

"Um...," Beth struggles with what to say, even though she already knows that the answer to her mother's question is a resounding: no. Daryl will be taking her to Atlanta and no further, Beth will pay him for his troubles, and they'll part ways. Her mom won't ever get to see the red cape she's imagining, and that's just the way that it is. "We'll see. Alright, then," she rushes past the words. "I love you both, okay? Goodnight."

"We both love you, too. Goodnight, sweetheart," her mom utters her last words, for the night, before Beth hears her Daddy bid her farewell and then nothing but the low dial tone meeting her ears. Beth pulls the phone away from her ears and shuts it down, before leaning towards the end table to set it on the surface for a night charge. When she faces forward, once more, the woman from before is demonstrating how easily the knives sharpen. She takes a queue from the man on the bed next to her and watches for a little while. It's actually quite impressive.

"Everythin' good?" Daryl surprises her, after a little while, by asking and glancing over.

"Yeah," she responds and tiredly grins. "It's all good...Thank you so much for doing all of this for me. I can't even tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Hmm..." Daryl nods, slowly and heavily. He turns the remote over a few times in his hands, while a smirk glides across his lips and his voice drips in dry humor, "That's what best friends are for." She watches Daryl's face as Daryl watches her, as she giggles gently at his remark. He's not bothered by her statement to her parents and that's all that matters. She wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable and be left behind on the side of the road (even though she knows that he would never) twice in one week.

After another few minutes of serrated edges and waterproof handles, Beth sighs to herself and pulls her body up off of the bed, "You were in the bathroom...is the shower completely disgusting?"

He's quiet for a moment, looking over at her and then in the direction of the door he'd gone through, earlier, "Nah. Nothin' too bad. Definitely seen worse."

It honestly doesn't sound very promising, to her. But, in her situation, she doesn't really have much of a choice. "Great, well...I'm gonna take a shower, then. I feel like I've been runnin' a marathon this whole day or something," she shucks her shoes off of her feet, places them down next to her bed, and starts heading towards the the door.

"Wait a sec," Beth halts her steps when Daryl speaks out, from his spot on the bed. He sounds as if he hadn't meant to speak and when she turns around and sees his thumb pressed against his mouth, she knows that it's true - that he's berating himself for opening his mouth. She watches him nervously bite at the digit for a moment, before he finally stands and drags his duffle bag out towards him. The zipper pulls open and his hands bury in, digging in to the side he hadn't stuffed the old clothes he had put in, earlier. He pulls out a button down out from the buttom of the bag and a small bottle of shampoo. The shirt's plaid pattern is brown in color and, like the one he'd been wearing all night before he changed, the sleeves are torn off of the sides. "It's...clean," he grunts and thrusts his arm out, with the shirt clutched tightly between red fingers. "Ain't worn it since I washed it before I left," his arm shakes subtly, as if he's determined that she takes it. "You've got no bags, so...thought you might want somethin' to sleep in other than jeans. And..." he looks at the bottle in his other hand, "there isn't anything in there."

Beth doesn't move.

"I know it ain't comfortable."

She just stares at his shirt and his face, which is turned to the side, so that he doesn't have to look at her. She smiles to herself as she looks him over, "You're familiar with that, are you?"

Daryl snorts and uncomfortable laugh, like he's thinking over a few nights that he's not so thrilled happened, and shrugs a wide shoulder - his hand still extended out towards her. Beth knows better, by now, than to push. She feels like she gets that much about him, at this point in their journy. So, she just lets her smile grow and walks over to him. She tries not to touch him any while she puts out a hand to grab the brown fabric, but she'd be dumb not to notice the brush of his fingers - rough and dry and red and desperate for her to take the article and walk away from him.

His eyes glance down to where her fingers brush his as they move away.

He looks uncomfortable with the contact.

"Doin' so much for me," Beth looks up to his face and smiles, her voice quiet and completely grateful. He's doing more for her than she knew other people were capable off. Beth's always been so adamant that the majority of people are inherently good, deep in their core, even when her family wasn't so sure. But, being a good person and going so far out of your way to do extraordinarily good deeds aren't necessarily the same thing. Most people will apologize if they bump into you, slightly, on the sidewalk. Not everyone will help you up off of the ground and start collecting the things that have scattered out of your purse, before you've even thanked them for the first act of kindness. Daryl is the second good person, even though most people wouldn't look at him and think it was so. Daryl is the person who would help Beth pick up her things off of the sidewalk, while everyone else complained that they're in the way. "And you don't even have to."

He shakes his head once and turns her his eyes away from hers, "Told you. Don't mind, none."

Beth watches him look away. Daryl Dixon does not like to be praised.

She grins, anyway, and turns around to head into the bathroom with his shirt tucked underneath her arm.

xxx

_"Fuck!"_

Annette hears the voice - deep and harsh and _unexpected_ \- curse out underneath the alarmingly loud song suddenly thrashing into her ear, and her interest peaks, even more so than it already was. She doesn't hear her daughter asking about Maggie's nerves or her husband asking about what's happening - to focused on the sound of the television in the background lowering in volume.

And that's how she spends the rest of the phone call.

Annette hadn't missed the soft rumble in the background and her daughter's distraction, as whoever was there went on about the plans for the next morning. She'd only caught a few words, but she hadn't missed the voice. Just as she doesn't miss the low hummed laugh, after Beth comments on the deaf person that previously stayed in the motel room.

She's not been off of the phone for three seconds, before Hershel disappears back into the hallway and she's rushing to follow behind.

"Did you catch what she said?" she asks, while he weaves into the front room, passed Glenn and his father who are both thundering up the stairs. "Hmm?"

"Yes, I did," Hershel grabs his book off of the end table and moves back towards his chair to settle back in. "She said that she's staying overnight in Virginia and she'll be here before dinner, tomorrow." He tugs the front cover open.

"No," Annette swishes a hand dismissively and her eyes widen excitedly. "She said she's bringing a _boyfriend_ to the wedding."

Hershel pauses where he's flipping through to find his page and looks up to his wife - his expression stern and adamant, "That's not what she said, Anne. She said a _friend_ is bringing her."

Annette frowns stubbornly and playfully, "She said 'he' and she said 'him'. That's a boyfriend."

"You are aware that her using male pronouns to describe the person driving her isn't synonymous with her being in a relationship, right?" Hershel turns back to the book in his lap. "If she was with someone...one of us would've known about it. She wouldn't hide those things."

She taps his should and sits on the armrest of his chair, "That's not necessarily true! We didn't know that she split with that one boy, until Maggie heard it from someone on Facebook. And, way back when she was still here with us all of the time, we didn't know, right away, that she'd begun to date Jimmy."

"Of course we did," Hershel counters. "We'd known they were together since kindergarten."

"That's a rotten joke - don't say that when she gets here," she orders. They had all learned the hard way that, once upon a time, their family was looking at Jimmy just a bit more seriously than Beth had been. "Anyway, she's _nineteen_. She _should_ be dating if she wants to be. I wonder what he's like, don't you? His voice was deep, so maybe she's dating an older man."

"Taking after you, huh?"

"She's out there on her own and with Haley as influence," she continues on, simply ignoring his comment. "-he's probably around twenty-one or twenty-two. It was only natural she'd want to drink, one day."

Hershel finds his page and looks for the line he was on. "Dear, you shouldn't be getting ahead of yourself," he sighs.

"You just don't want her to be with anyone, that's why you're not excited."

Hershel chuckles underneath his breath and glances up to where his wife sits above him, "If you're so thrilled about this development, maybe you should go tell Maggie? I'm sure she'd love to know." He smiles as her frown turns real. Margaret wouldn't take kindly to having to add someone else to the seating chart - she spent so much time thinking over who'd sit best with who. He had watched her and Glenn and his parents and Annette hovering over in discussion, while he and Shawn and Otis disappeared to the animals and the work of the farm. He knows the effort that went into that chart. "You know as well as I do that Bethy is...a romantic," he carries on. "If she was with someone, she'd be writing about it and singing about it. But, from what we know, she's not."

Annette's shaking her head, "I feel pretty certain."

"How about we wait? What's most important is that she's blessed with a smooth journey. If she's with someone, than she's with someone. But, for now?" he cranes his head up and brushes a kiss across her cheek. "He's a friend, that we're all grateful for, who's kind enough to drive over fourteen hours to bring her home."

xxx

He's found some sort-of talk show playin' on the television. He recognizes the host, as most people would, even if he can't remember the man's name. He's been drunk enough, enough times in his life, to find himself thrown down against the length of a ratty couch with this useless blabber fumbling on in front of him. He doesn't recognize any of the guests, though, and the jokes are so scripted that he can't find it in himself to think they're funny. He's not really paying attention to what anyone on the screen is talking about, anyway.

For twelve long minutes, Daryl's been listening to the muffled sound of the spray of water, hitting weakly against the tiles of the shower's walls. And, more importantly, for twelve long minutes he's been listening to the quiet hum of a soft voice singing out a thoughtless tune. He figures she's no more than mumblin' out the song, because of how his ears have to strain to pick up the sound - her song (whatever the fuck it may be) echoing off of the walls.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing with this situation.

Daryl can't remember the last time he was in a room with a naked female (even if she is on the other side of the bathroom door) or the last time he was sleeping in the same room as a female, when he was sober. It's happened, before, of course. And it's been painfully awkward the two times it's happened. But, it's been a long while. And this isn't that circumstance. Not even remotely close. He has no plans to push this girl down to the bed and settle himself between her thighs and handle any business of his. He knows that she doesn't have those plans, either. She might not be a girl, but...she is just a girl - a girl who needed someone's help and a girl he's helping. If either of them wanted to do what the lady at check in insinuated, they could, because she ain't that young. Legal and all that shit. But, that ain't why they're here. It ain't why she's here. It ain't why he is.

But, that don't make it any less uncomfortable. He can only imagine the jokes Merle'd be cracking on about if he so much as caught a whiff of his predicament. The names he'd get called. Not that the asshole has any chance of learning about any of this, seeing as Daryl just got back from visiting his dumb ass in _jail_.

_Fucking Merle._

His first time leaving the state and it's to visit his brother in The Big House, wearing some ugly ass tan jumpsuit - the joke and the irony that something he'd thought so long about doing ended up happening because his brother's a moron, is not lost on him.

And now, Daryl is plus one dusty as shit motorcycle.

Plus one questionable bag of money, that he made it absolutely clear during his visit he didn't want to know nothing about how Merle got it; Daryl doesn't deal in drugs, he deals in wood and nails and yellow construction hats - no matter what his older brother wants to bring him in on.

And plus one _girl_.

_Shit._

He listens to the water turn off and the metal rings of the curtain sliding along the pole, as Beth steps out.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit._

He wants to complain that he doesn't know how the fuck he got rooked into this mess. But, he does. He knows that he does. Daryl's laying back on the bed, where he's kicked his own muddy boots off and crossed his legs at his ankles and _he knows he does_. Seeing that girl hunched on over on the curb of that gas station parking lot looking a lot like a girl looking like she was tryin' to look like she was okay...all too clear that she wasn't...Daryl doesn't do well with crying woman - young, old, or anywhere in between. He doesn't do well with just leaving them there. He's seen enough of crying woman to know that it always means somethin'. Even when he walks away from them and forces himself not to deal and shove himself into a situation he doesn't need or want to be involved with, there's always that annoying as hell pull that makes him feel like a wad of shit, if he does.

He couldn't leave her.

She was crying and alone and she said the guy inside had made a comment and...

He couldn't just leave her.

And now here he is.

Full on up with some generic chili and hunkered down with a naked girl who keeps _thanking_ him like he's doin' something important. Like, he's doing something everyone who isn't a complete asshole wouldn't do.

He knows that's not true, too.

The good news is that eight hours isn't that long of a ride and she's not too much of a talker and she's paying him when they get into Atlanta. The good news is that it's not really out of his way and she's not a psycho and she seems nice enough. She seems too nice. What is wrong with this chick? Don't she know you don't just get into old pick up trucks with filthy rednecks? The world is fucking dangerous and she's asking complete strangers to let her in their cars. He knows she's safe with him. He knows he ain't never gonna hit or hurt a woman; he's going to his grave with his hands as clean as they can be. He's done some lift jobs with Merle and Merle's normal crew and he's punched in some bad men in crews that don't quite get along with his brother's friends. But, he ain't gonna be his Pa in this regard.

Beth's safe with him, he's got no doubt 'bout that. But, she probably should.

When the bathroom door pulls open, slowly and full of uncertainty - a burst of the smell of steam pouring out, Daryl's train of thought is completely severed. He sees leg before he sees anything else; long and white and cut off mid-thigh where his shirt rests. It's too big on her, obviously. The shoulder seam is hunched so far over her arm that it looks like he hadn't ripped it apart too bad that one day on a hunting trip where he got caught up in some barbed wire he'd tried to climb through. She's completely covered up and, yet, his eyes see so much leg and he whips his gaze away and back to the show.

The old man is asking some dumb question to some ditz actress who barely seems to know what happens in her own movie.

And his face is red.

Daryl listens as Beth's feet pad their way across the carpet and he listens as she pulls back on the blankets. He doesn't have to turn to her to know the way she tugs at the hem of the shirt willing it to be longer, while she quickly slips underneath the covers. He only briefly glances over when he's sure that it's safe and it's only to find that the white flush of her skin is turning pink and she's chewing on her bottom lip.

Her hair is wet and long - much longer than it looks when it's swept up - and she combs at it nervously with her fingers. She looks like a completely different person than she looked on that curb.

_She looks fineee, as hell, Darylina._ He hears Merle crow. _Or, what is it that your delicate sensibilities would say? __**Pretty**__. She looks reaaal pretty, don't she? Bet you weren't expecting that, huh, baby brother? Nah, you thought she was a little __**girl **__couple'a hours ago. Ha, I knew you liked'em young._

"Long day," Beth coughs and pulls at a knotted snag.

"Hmm."

_Put her in your shirt, too. That was real smart, baby brother. Real smart. Lookin' real nice, that one is. Smooth legs. Save her for me, why don't you, Darylina? I'mma get outta here, eventually. Be nice to have some fuzz waitin'._

"The shower was pretty gross. Thought you said it wasn't too bad?"

"Hmm, it wasn't, really...Seen much worse in my time."

He knows that she's fillin' the silence that's formed from the sudden sight of her skin. He knows she's covering her nerves at being so exposed 'round someone that she just met. It's not irritating, in the way that it is with Merle and with...most people. He almost thinks that it's a good thing. She wasn't scared none getting into a car with him - she wasn't nervous 'bout that - but she recognizes that this ain't normal, unless you're coming home from the bar trashed and thinkin' about other things. He feels better knowing she's in her right head.

But, despite the pride he feels that she's got her wits about her, he doesn't really want to be in this room and he feels ridiculous that he can _feel_ the way his face has flamed. He doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable being here with him, 'cause he's the one who pulled the truck over. He doesn't want her to lay in her bed and suffer, thinking she's gone and embarrassed herself or something stupid like that. But, he's got nothing to say to to her or to _himself_ to get ease the strangeness of this whole situation out of the very fibers of their bones.

And it's been a very long time since he slept in the same room as a female, when he was sober.

And she continues to comb out her hair with her fingers, wet droplets falling and soaking away into the plaid of his shirt.

And the light of the television dances shadows across their faces.

And it's just an eight hour drive, in the morning, is all.

And he can say nothing for a very long time.

And the show plays on.

* * *

Note: I got a bit distracted, but I've finally managed to get this out. It's much much longer than the three other installments have been, up to this point. I always say longer is better when it comes to fics I'm reading, so I hope that you agree with that. I'm really excited to bring in Daryl's perspective on things, finally. That will come in more detail later on. And from here on out, it'll interchange. Some chapters will be full Beth. Some will be full Daryl. Some will be a mixture of things. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, as well! Reading them is so encouraging. And I'd love to hear what you have to say for this one. And let's keep moving forward :)))


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